


Object Permanence

by Arukou



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, Butt Plugs, D/s overtones, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Matchmaking, Multi, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Natasha matchmaking, No on-screen sex, Pining, Post-CACW, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, get-together, rare trio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8888101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arukou/pseuds/Arukou
Summary: Natasha and Steve have been good together, but Natasha knows there are better matches out there than her, and she also knows that Steve's had a crush on Tony for longer than they've been sleeping together. It's for the best, really, that she bring them together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Meatball42](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meatball42/gifts).



> For the prompt: "MCU: Tony turned Steve down, for whatever reason the author wishes (Tony's or Steve's relationship with Any?), and Steve respectfully backed off. Now Tony (and optional Any) wants to date Steve, but is convinced Steve is no longer interested."
> 
> I tried to follow the prompt as best I could, but I think my mind wandered in different directions as I was writing. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!
> 
> Huge thanks to [MusicalLuna](http://musicalluna.tumblr.com/) for a last-minute beta job. Couldn't have done it without you!

Natasha knows how to get to Steve, knows how to push his buttons. She knows how to push anyone’s buttons, given half a minute and a sweet smile, so Steve shouldn’t be surprised, but it still catches him off guard when she pokes him sharply in the chest and says, “How long have you been crushing on Tony and when were you gonna tell me?”

“I…What are you talking about?”

She shifts and throws a leg over both his thighs, twisting so she can fold her hands over his chest and rest her chin on top of them.

“Remember that conversation we had about you and being a terrible liar?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Steve.”

“I’m a nonagenarian. You can’t expect my memory to be perfect.”

She sighs and fixes him with a sly, knowing look—doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to. They both know he’ll crack like an egg, especially if she shifts just a little further right and digs her thigh into his crotch.

“I’m not sure if this is the best conversation to be having in bed.”

“It’s great pillow talk. Former lovers, long-time crushes. What could go wrong?”

“Budapest?”

“Still not telling you.”

“Then why should I tell you about Tony?”

“Because my lipstick is on your dick?”

“Language, Nat,” he grins and bows his head to kiss her, but she dodges.

“Nuh-uh. No more until I get to hear about it.”

Steve sighs and drops back against his pillows, staring up at the spots of water damage on the ceiling of Nat’s flop house. One of her flop houses. He’s been to three and would guess she has at least twice that many. As spy hidey-holes go, this one’s not bad. Old and a little decrepit, but it has a fireplace that keeps the whole studio at a toasty seventy-five. And it’s got Natasha. It could be a hole in the ground, and he would still love it if it had Natasha.

She lets him stew in his silence for a bit, and finally he says, “Yeah. So… I got a crush on him somewhere between ‘See that red lever?’ and him flying a nuke through a black hole. I didn’t… I mean. He’s so different from…”

Steve’s never been a wordsmith. His forte has always been physical, even when he was a sickly little sack of nothing. Natasha understands. Her forte’s not words either. At least, not the way he might say Sam’s good with words. No. Natasha’s good at manipulation, but expressing herself through her words? Waste of time, that’s what she’d say.

“I guess I’ve never known anyone like him. At first I didn’t…I didn’t know what to think of him, but now…”

“Is he like his father?”

Steve glances down to see that Natasha is watching him intently, thoughtfully. He’s not sure where she’s going with all this, but this at least is a question he knows how to answer. “Yes and no. I mean, Tony gets his showmanship from his dad, that’s for sure. But Howard was…I don’t know. We were all so young, Nat. But Tony’s…he’s more brittle. I think Howard was pretty damn bulletproof.”

“And Tony’s full of bullet holes.”

Steve sighs again and shifts so that he can run a hand down Nat’s spine. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“Does he know?”

“What? That I like him? Yeah. Yeah, he knows.”

“How’d that happen?”

“You are just full of questions tonight.”

“I’m a spy. Being nosy’s in the job description.”

“Why does all this matter anyway?”

Nat goes back to poking his chest with a finger again and it’s very distracting. She’s writing something. He’s not sure what—Cyrillic maybe?—but the sharp, short point of her nail is almost ticklish.

“Just pillow talk, Rogers.” She says it in such an off-handed way, like she’s talking about the weather. It’s not lost on Steve that almost all their pillow talk is about his life, his feelings, his experiences. They trust each other now, bonds forged steel strong in the fires they’ve faced. But she’s still so damn secretive. He knows in time she’ll tell him. Probably. It doesn’t stop him from wishing that just once she’d be a little more forthcoming.

She breathes deeply, a single loud inhalation and exhalation, and then pushes off his chest, the hard points of her hand digging in just enough to hurt. Swinging from the bed, she walks naked to the kitchenette and pours milk into a sauce pan, setting it to the burner and rummaging through the cupboards. The conversation is clearly over now, so Steve sits up and scooches back against the headboard. Watching her.

“I feel like working with open flames while naked is a health hazard,” he teases, but she just throws a playful look over her shoulder and goes up on tiptoe to grab a box of instant hot cocoa.

“So’s challenging the whole damn intelligence community to a game of chicken, but I didn’t see that stopping you.”

He sobers a little at that, and looks out the window where the snow is falling fast and hard. Freak October blizzard. Go figure. “When are you coming home, Natasha?” He didn’t mean to ask, but it slips from him like water through his fingers.

Nat doesn’t reply. He’d almost think she didn’t hear the question, but she most certainly heard it. She hears everything.

He looks back out at the snow and tries not to get lost in the spiral of it, the thoughts about Tony and New York and Hydra and Bucky and the echoing emptiness of a Tower that’s full of people yet somehow still lonely. Nat finishes heating the milk and brings two mugs of cocoa back to bed. She tucks herself under his arm, and he tries not to think about how right she feels there and how, come morning, she’ll be off again, disappearing into the fog of God-knows where. And he’ll go back to Avengers Tower to his lonely floor where the windows gape like hungry maws and the chill never seems to go away, no matter how high he turns up the heat.

It’s fine. She needs to get things in order. Rebuild her profile in the underworld. It’s fine.

* * *

 

Tony is a man who should avoid heart trauma at all costs, so clearly he has a death wish because about half of his friends are spies and he’s really just asking for it every time he turns around and finds one of them lurking in his workshop.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasps, pressing an oil-smeared hand to his chest. “Warn a guy, Gingersnaps.”

Nat only smirks and peels herself off the far wall to stalk toward him like a hungry cat. He likes Nat, really he does. For all the subterfuge, for all the glaringly dismissive reports, she’s never really lied to him. Even when she was undercover at SI, he felt like she wasn’t really lying—just hiding things. Always hiding things.

And once the Avengers formed, it was different. Better still. He thinks, on some days, that they might even be friends. There’s not a lot of people Tony thinks of as friends, so that must mean something. On rare occasions, he’s almost sure she feels the same way.

But when she comes at him like this, there’s still a little part of him that wants to drop to his knees and hope she has mercy on him. It’s less her—though her prowling gait would strike fear into just about anyone—and more that being snuck up on just doesn’t jive well with him. He’ll remember Stane with his knee on the sofa, arc reactor in hand, or a flock of helicopters come to destroy what matters most to him. He never wants to feel that way again, but he knows down in his bones that in his line of work it’s inevitable.

“Hi Tony.”

She wants something. And that’s a different kind of sting of betrayal. But it’s the only reason anyone visits him anymore anyway. “These arrows aren’t flying straight, Tony.” “I ripped another set of pants, Tony.” “Is there any way to make this armor cooler when it’s hot out, Tony?” He’s happy to help, really. But sometimes it would be nice if someone would drop in to just say hi, to maybe ask him out for a burger or invite him up for a movie.

Whatever. It’s fine. He pulls up his notes program, turns, and waits attentively. “What can I do for you, Single Lady?”

“Really?”

“What? Better than Widow. Queen Bey’s on your side. But seriously what do you want? I’m sitting on a deadline here and I’ve got to get a working prototype ready to go in forty-eight hours.” Okay. Maybe it’s not so fine. He didn’t mean to be quite so testy, but there’s no way he’s taking it back.

“I can’t just be here for the pleasure of your company?”

Tony doesn’t deign that with an answer, instead he yanks open a drawer and pulls out a sleek, black gauntlet, spinning and pressing it into her hand. He’d meant to keep it for more testing, but she’s here now and maybe he’ll preempt the request. Maybe he’ll surprise her. Maybe she’ll be pleased and ask him up for tea or something. “Here. Try this on while you’re here.”

“Tony.”

“What? I’m multi-tasking.”

“I wasn’t due for an upgrade.”

“There are always improvements to be made, Charlotte.”

“Can the nicknames.”

“Roger Wilco.”

Nat sighs and holds up her wrist, twisting and turning her fist and checking her range of motion. Tony’s made the electricity pods flexible—it’s a new rubberized conductor he’s trying out. They sit further down her hands, protecting the soft meat of her palms a little. Nat glances up at him where he’s pretending that he’s not watching her intently. She smirks a little. “These are lovely, but that’s not why I’m here. I have a favor to ask.”

“Oh?” Yep. She wants something. Big surprise.

“Can you check in on Steve for me while I’m gone?”

Tony frowns. That wasn’t what he was expecting. Really, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but someone to look in on Steve definitely wasn’t it. Things’ve been awkward between him and Steve. Well more awkward. Tony never called to get backup when the Mandarin attacked. Steve never dropped a line to say “By the way, SHIELD’s full of Nazis and they’re trying to kill you and everyone else.” And all the clean-up, all the purging of the intelligences agencies and government officials, every Avenger has split the load evenly, so everyone just ends up working alone on their own assignments. But whatever. Tony’s happy to arrest terrorists left and right and he’s got the time for it. (He doesn’t, but he’d never admit it to anyone.)

What he didn’t know was that maybe Steve needed help with his end of clean up. Why else would Nat want Tony dropping in? For a friendly cup of coffee. Hah. Not even in Tony’s more sleep-deprived fantasies.

“Check up on him how?”

“Oh, the usual. Make sure he’s fed and watered, check his litter box. For Pete’s sake, Tony, how do you check up on any normal human being?”

“You…hack their email servers?”

“Tony.”

“Alright, fine. I’ll drop in and take some of the Senate leads off his hands. Ease up the burden, right? That should be enough.”

Nat looks at him like she’s halfway to tearing her own hair out. Which for her means that her lips press a little more tightly than normal and her hand twitches as though she’s considering going for a weapon. “Tony, this isn’t work related. This is about Steve being lonely.”

Tony’s normally better at controlling his facial expressions, but for this he feels his eyebrows shoot up until they’re hidden under a sweaty fall of hair. “You want me to…socialize? With Steve?”

“Yes. It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. Just…I don’t know. Maybe bring him a coffee every now and then or something.”

He feels so out of his depth right now. No one ever goes to him for _emotional_ support. They’ve got government-issued therapists for that sort of thing. And really, all things considered, Tony is the last human on the planet who should ever been giving emotional anything. But Nat’s looking at him expectantly, her eyebrows just barely pinched, expression tight and frustrated. He can’t say no though. Not to her.

“Okay. I’ll…I’ll pop in and force-feed him chocolate or something. Chocolate makes anyone happy, right? Hot cocoa. That’s a feel-good beverage."

Something in Natasha’s expression eases imperceptibly and briefly Tony is reminded that he is the oldest Avenger, that he’s somehow supposed to be looking out for the rest of them.

“Thank you,” she says, removing the gauntlet and setting it back down. “And while you’re at it, maybe take him out for burgers or something. A movie. Something to get him out of the Tower and away from work.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“Not bossy. Delegating.”

Tony laughs and picks up a torque wrench, toying with the ratcheting action. He’s tempted to ask. He was under the impression that Nat and Steve were doing the horizontal tango, but if Nat doesn’t feel comfortable calling Steve or talking to him about this… Tony taps absently at his chest, fingers beating against nerveless scar tissue. Nat’s watching and waiting, clearly knows he’s got something to say. She waits, as all spiders in their webs wait.

“You uh, you and he are…I mean, you’re being careful with him right? You’re not…” Her eyes scan him, as penetrating as any laser, and he rushes on. “I just mean, you know, he’s lost so much. I’d hate to see him lose you, too. Or any of us. You know? He just, I think he needs some stability, something to hold on to, and I don’t think I, we, I don’t think we give him that sometimes.”

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Where did he go after DC went to shit?”

“New York, Toronto, London, Moscow, Belarus, Delhi, Seoul, Ulaanbaatar.” Tony’s list spills out without a hint of hesitation, and if anything, Natasha’s gaze becomes sharper still. “But what does that have to do with anything?”

“You’re missing the point,” she says, her tone just this side of on-edge. “Where did he go after all that?”

“Uh, here, I guess.”

“Don’t you think that says something about the stability he feels here?”

“I think it says he pretty much ruined the deposit on that DC apartment of his, what with the sniper holes and the subsequent Hydra meltdown, and didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

Natasha sighs and idly picks up a shiny silver screw from a side table. She twists it back and forth for a moment and then tosses it to him. He catches it without thinking, the metal warm from her palm. She doesn’t elaborate on her line of questioning, instead says, “I’m being as careful as I can with him, but…I’ve got work to do, Tony. I know you do, too. I was hoping maybe together we can manage to be bigger.”

Tony looks at her wide-eyed, and he can taste fear at the back of his throat, sour as day-old alcohol. What is she saying?

“Nat, I don’t…I don’t think you should be asking me. I think you need someone else.”

“Like who? Who would be better than you?”

“A responsible human being? Wilson? Pepper? Hill?”

“Tony.”

He pulls up short at her tone. She sounds…tired. Tony’s not sure if he’s ever heard Natasha sound tired. There’s something hauntingly familiar in her face, and it’s all he can do not to offer her something right there—a giant bunny, a car, a bazooka. A hug. Something, anything to take some of that weariness from her bones.

“Okay, Nat. I’ll…I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you,” she says, and then the mask slips back on and she strolls to him, leaning in and kissing him on each cheek. “I’ll see you in a while.”

She leaves him as quietly as she came, barely more than a phantom in the Tower. He stares at the spot where she stood, wondering what just passed between them.

* * *

 

“Knock knock! Room service.”

Steve sits up from his brooding slump in his recliner, the one he stole from the curb, even though Nat, Clint, and Sam had all warned him not to touch it lest he drag bed bugs into every room in the Tower. No bed bugs so far and it’s his favorite piece of furniture in his suite because it feels like _his_. He’s pulled it as close to the fire as he dares, and the flames lick nearly to his feet. His toes still feel like icicles.

“Tony?”

“Hey Mr. Grumpy Gills. How’s your perpetual frowny-face going today? Has your expression frozen that way yet? My mother always told me that’s what would happen.”

With a sigh, Steve sets aside his work tablet and twists to watch Tony’s approach. He’s been coming every day since Nat disappeared, and Steve’s starting to suspect her hand in this uncharacteristic friendliness. It’s not that Tony’s ever particularly unfriendly to him. It’s more that Tony keeps out of the Avengers’ suites. He sticks to his workshop and the penthouse and the common living space, and that last one barely at all. His appearance now is weird, but not unwelcome.

“Just working. Reading over depositions for a few of the senators on trial.”

“Steve, that’s lawyer work. Leave it to my teams of highly skilled and grossly overpriced lawyer sharks.”

“You say that like they’re actual sharks.”

“They are. Very convincing people suits.”

Steve smiles in spite of himself, looking down at his knees in vain hope that he doesn’t egg Tony on.

“I brought burgers.”

Tony sets out the burgers and immediately unpeels one, taking a bite that even Steve would describe as gratuitous. After a moment, he unwraps a burger for himself (Tony brought six) and methodically begins to eat. It tastes fine, probably even good, but he can barely process the flavor on his tongue. His brain is too caught up in the mess he and the US government have made. At least rebuilding buildings is easy. Repopulating government agencies and purging evil neo-Nazis? Not so much. He feels overwhelmed by it all—it was never supposed to be his job, this politicking. He was meant to be a shield and a weapon and now they want him glad-handing and reassuring the population and also they want to put him on trial for exposing sensitive intelligence. And that’s all before he even starts thinking about Bucky. And Sam chasing off after him. And Nat chasing them both. Except she’s not chasing. She has to be steps ahead of them, sometimes yards ahead of them, and preferably miles ahead of their enemies. Meanwhile, Steve’s sitting here, being useless.

As though he can read minds, Tony suddenly says, “You miss her, huh?”

Steve startles out of his burger and his thoughts and glances at Tony, who is studiously picking sesame seeds from his wrapper with the tip of his finger.

“She’s doing what she has to. She’s got a job. I can’t…I can’t hold her back.”

“Pretty sure none of us are capable of holding her back, Steve.”

He smiles at that, because Tony is absolutely right. It doesn’t matter if her opponents are super-powered, super-rich, backed by an army, and it doesn’t matter if the battle is hand-to-hand or a battle of wits. Nat is the best of the best, and just thinking of watching her work, he feels a smile drift across his face of its own volition.

When he glances up, he catches Tony watching him. There’s something glistening sharp in Tony’s gaze, the jagged edges of glass long-shattered. The corners of his mouth tug uncharacteristically and inexorably downward, and Steve wonders what it is that upset him. He’s not brave enough to ask, though, so he changes the subject.

“How’s the, that new robot network you were telling me about, how’s that going?”

Tony’s expression changes in an instant, lighting up with a boyish inner fire. Steve watches the way his smile sets beautiful lines into his cheeks and at the corners of his eyes, the way his hands start talking for him, getting bigger and bigger in their expansive gestures. Steve always did mean to quash his little crush, just let it go. Before, Tony was taken, and now Steve and Nat are…doing whatever they’re doing. But when he sees Tony like this, his heart rate picks up, his face grows warm, and he knows he’s never been good at holding back on his feelings.

He should let it go. Really he should. It’s not practical. They’re teammates, and besides, Tony’s not interested. Not in that way.

But telling himself that, he just feels the hooks in his heart sink deeper.

* * *

 

Natasha gets back to the Tower at about eight and sneaks in, asks JARVIS not to announce her presence. She wants to see first, gather her intel before she makes a decision or takes action. She goes straight to Steve’s suite and quietly, carefully slips in. Steve’s right where she expected him to be, curled up in that horrible chair of his, massive body twisted in an incongruously small knot. But he’s not alone.

Tony sits next to him in a wingback chair dragged from the reading nook. (Only Tony, the anti-analog tech genius, would be uppity enough to still design Avengers suites with reading nooks.) On the small end table between them, there’s a spread of colorful sushi, which Tony is pointing at and discussing avidly. Steve’s eyes are on him, his knuckle curled over his mouth to hide a smile, but he’s not fooling anyone. Except maybe Tony.

But Nat already knew how Steve felt about Tony. She asked him even. No. It’s Tony’s face, Tony’s actions she wants to see.

He’s alive, excited, talking with surprising knowledge about how sushi chefs move up the totem pole, starting from the rice and then the seaweed and egg and finally working up to fish cutting and octopus massage. While he’s energized with sharing this with Steve, he forgets to hide himself, forgets to put on his armor, and she can see it plain as day. Whatever might’ve passed between Tony and Steve in the past, in the now, Tony wants Steve, wants to be with him and please him and make him a home. That’s all she needed to know.

She sneaks back out of Steve’s apartment as easily as she snuck in and retreats to her own suite. She has thinking to do, planning, and besides, she wouldn’t want to interrupt what looked like a wonderful meal. In the shower, and afterwards in pajamas with soup in hand, her mind turns over what she knows about Steve and Tony, what buttons she can push and what inclinations she can cajole. It’ll be easy, she’s pretty sure. Just a gentle little nudge. She nods to herself, and stares down into her cup of tea. Easy. She goes to bed without finishing it, and it sits on her side table, cooling in the night air.

* * *

 

In the black of night, she wakes as though a raid siren has gone off in her ear, turning and pressing a knife into the throat of the person behind her. Steve freezes and doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. The blade is at his skin, pressing without drawing blood.

“You idiot,” she hisses, and slides it back beneath the mattress where it came from.

“Sorry,” he says, still frozen where she held him. “I asked JARVIS if you’d checked in and he said you were home. I just wanted to see you. How come you didn’t come by to say hi?”

“I was tired.”

This wasn’t part of the plan and she feels like an exposed wire, liable to spark and set things aflame at any moment.

“Oh,” Steve says, wilting. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll…I’ll just go back up.”

She knows it’s late, can feel it even without glancing at the clock. If he’s up now, there’s a reason, a nightmare or a bout of insomnia. She ought to push him away. It’ll make the next phases of her plan easier. But she doesn’t. Just one night more. It’ll be fine.

“Get back here,” she grouses, snatching his wrist before he can slide out of bed. She pulls his arm over her side until he gets the picture and presses up against her, chest to back, legs twined together. He’s warm, but for a moment, she can feel him shivering. Nightmare, then.

“Nat?”

“Go to sleep, Steve.”

He shifts a little, wriggling into a more comfortable position, and then presses his lips to the back of her neck. “Thanks, Nat.” He falls asleep almost instantly, his breath tickling the fine hairs at her nape. She, however, stays awake until dawn starts tinging the late autumn sky pink. Just one night more.

* * *

 

Nat doesn’t get the drop on Tony this time, but only because he happens to be facing the door when she comes down. She doesn’t look devious or cunning like she usually does when she descends on the lab. She doesn’t even look quietly amused, like she does when she’s around the Avengers. Her face is a blank mask, and he feels a tiny shiver of terror in the back of his mind. Something has happened. He’s not sure what, but he suspects it’s not good.

She doesn’t speak until she reaches him, her posture just as carefully neutral as her face. He hesitates and then sets aside his tablet and gives her his full attention.

“You love Steve.”

For a moment, he doesn’t, can’t process what she’s said. And then it washes over him like a tidal wave—the way she said it, heavy and flat, no question whatsoever.

The temptation to lie tingles on his tongue, even though he knows she knows his tells, even though he knows it would be insulting to her. Still for just a nanosecond, he considers denying it. But then he doesn’t. He only takes a deep breath and dips his head, not quite sure if he’s nodding to acknowledge the truth of it or simply bowing in shame.

He doesn’t expect her to touch his chin, tilting his face back up. The ceramic edges of her features have softened just a little, and if he didn’t know better, he’d almost say that was empathy he was seeing in her eyes. “He’s easy to love,” she says, holding his gaze as she speaks. Where is this going?

With the brusqueness of a professional, Natasha gives him a once over and then releases him, stepping back a little. “He told me that you know he has feelings for you.”

Tony swallows hard. It’s a night he’s tried not think too much about, the both of them hunched over crime reports about people who managed to get ahold of Chitauri technology, trading ideas on how to incentivize people to return them. They’d both been tired and the Tower had been echoingly empty and Steve had suddenly blurted out, “You wanna go swing dancing together?”

The words are still there in his memory, charmingly slurred by both Brooklyn and exhaustion; he can remember looking up and seeing the deep flush of Steve’s cheeks. And he knows the moment he comprehended what exactly “swing dancing” might mean to a man like Steve.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

A prettier flush still, Steve’s hand ruffling his dishwater hair, and a shrug of hunched, massive shoulders. “I found out the hard way that if I’ve got feelings for someone, I shouldn’t wait around to show ‘em.”

It was a tempting offer, but at the time, Tony had Pepper, was trying to show her how dedicated he was to them, to keeping them together. That was before the whole Extremis mess, before Steve shipped off to DC where he found a new swing partner in Nat, before Pep caught him working on a new suit and said she needed time. He shakes himself out of the memory and looks up at Natasha.

“He did tell me that, yeah. But it was years ago now, Nat. He’s moved on.” _To you_. He doesn’t say that part, though. He’s not going to be petty, not going to begrudge Steve and Nat their happiness. They’ve both had more tragedy in their lives than him, both deserve whatever happiness fate’s willing to throw their way.

“Don’t be so sure.” Tony glances up at her and then away. He almost can’t bear the intensity of her eyes. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you Tony. I’ve been watching. He wants you. I’d even hazard to say he needs you.”

“Didn’t we go over this when you asked me to babysit? Sort of? I mean, he’s got you. He doesn’t need me when he’s got you.”

“You’ve got it backwards, Tony. I’m almost never here. I’m out there trying to…to make things right. I’m doing what he can’t. You, on the other hand, you’re here always. You’re his rock. I think you should ask him out.”

“He’s with you, Nat. I don’t understand why you’re doing this.”

“Nat?”

They both freeze and look to the door at the same time, and Tony has the irrational urge to laugh. It would be funny if it weren’t so mortifying. Steve is standing there in the doorway of the workshop. He’s wearing workout clothes, and normally that would make him look even larger than he already is, but somehow now he looks naked and small.

“Are you…do you not…” Steve can’t seem to get a sentence out. His face has gone rigid, a tiny but pronounced line sharp between his eyebrows, and he looks like he’s about three seconds from punching something or panicking.

“Steve,” Nat breathes, and holy shit. Holy shit, she’s afraid. Throw an alien army at her and she says “it’ll be fun,” but confront her with a truly wounded Steve Rogers and she…she might actually be at a loss. “How long have you been standing there?” she finally manages to ask, and Steve’s expression hardens. He’s chosen anger, apparently.

“Long enough to hear you trying to…to pass me off like some, some second-hand pair of pants. And to hear what I already knew: that Tony isn’t interested. You knew that. Why would you even ask? Why wouldn’t you just talk to me? If it’s…” he swallows and for a moment his anger melts away to reveal a face that has grown far too used to loss, “if it’s not working between us, I don’t know why you wouldn’t just tell me. I would’ve backed off. I would’ve left you alone.”

“No, that’s not—“

“I don’t want to hear this. I…I’m just gonna…” He turns away, shoulders hardening like ice on a mountain peak.

“Steve, wait!” It’s not Natasha but Tony who manages to catch his attention. He looks over his shoulder, everything on his face tight and painful.

“I’m sorry, Tony. I’m sorry Nat pulled you into this. I know you don’t—“

“You don’t know shit.”

Steve stills, his mouth parted slightly. They’re all unmoving, all arrested by Tony’s vehemence. His voice echoes off the concrete and glass walls for a few seconds before it dies away and all that’s left is the hum of a server bank and the whir of DUM-E’s hydraulics.

“Steve,” Tony speaks, walking slowly to the entrance where Steve still stands, shoulders tense like a gazelle waiting to run. “Steve, how could you think I don’t care about you?”

“Like that,” he hisses. “You don’t care about me in that way.”

“Are you so sure?” Tony presses a palm to the center of Steve’s back and they stand there, shaking apart together. Natasha watches and sees how it’s like closing a circuit, how they complete the current. She swallows and slowly starts backing away toward Tony’s emergency elevator. They’ll work it out. Steve’ll work it out. She’s nearly out of sight when his voice echoes out to her.

“Don’t go, Nat. I still deserve an explanation.”

She considers slipping away anyway. She could be on a flight for Prague in less than an hour. But no. Steve is right. He does deserve an explanation.

Reluctantly, she edges back into the light and finds Tony and Steve standing shoulder to shoulder, watching her. She’s been interrogated before, tortured, beaten. This is worse somehow, every second aware of Steve’s hurt and anger, of Tony’s intense scrutiny and whip-fast intellect.

“I’m not what you need or want. Simple as that. I can give you sex, Steve, but that’s it. I’m not… Tony can give you a home.”

The maelstrom of expressions on Steve’s face is hard to read, and she’s so caught up in watching him that she doesn’t catch Tony edging closer until he’s almost inside her guard. “Did it ever occur to you,” he says, his voice a complex mix of bemused and irritated, “that the home extends to you, too?”

She looks up at him and wishes that she’d disappeared after all. It would’ve been easier than facing down these two idiots and making them see reason. And by now, she’s betting Tony’s triggered some sort of override on the elevators, which makes escape all the more difficult.

“The problem here, Nat, might be that you’re looking at this in terms of binaries. We don’t have to be that black-and-white. Compromise, teamwork. Isn’t that what the Avengers are supposed to be about?”

Since the age of five, Natasha has been trained to have complete control of her heartbeat, but right now, she’s forgotten all those careful techniques, all those regulating motions that might steady her breath and not give away the game. Is he really…? She glances over at Steve to gauge his reaction. His brow is furrowed deep in thought, eyes on the concrete floor in front of him. He’s not calling Tony crazy, not saying there’s no way.

She jumps when Tony touches her elbow. How did he get inside her guard? What the hell is happening here?

“I’m not saying we jump straight into bed. In fact, I think that’d be pretty fucking stupid given my relationship track-record. But maybe we could try…us? Together? What do you think, Steve?”

Tony’s hand is on her still; she can’t feel his body heat through her jacket, but she can feel the strength in his fingers, hear the hard scratch of calluses against leather. He’s looking at her dead-on: no sunglasses, no mask, no armor. She’s not sure he’s ever looked at her quite like this, quite so open. Steve is speaking, she’s pretty sure, but somehow trapped in Tony’s eyes, she can’t quite hear him. But then there’s a touch on her other elbow, the press of a hand she knows well. It knocks her from the spell and she hears him.

“—willing to try, Nat. I think…I think it might be good for us. All of us.”

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t in her plan. But their hands on her elbows feel gentle, not gripping or pulling, only letting her know that they’re both there. Her throat is tight. She can barely breathe around the constriction of it. But no. That’s unacceptable. She’s better than this. So she takes one huge breath, fighting hard not to let it shake, and then she says, “You’re both idiots.”

“You knew that already,” Tony points out.

“I can’t be here all the time. I’m gonna run off.”

“Nat,” Steve says, bending in close enough that she can smell the sweat and musk of him. “We know. We’re not asking you to be anything you’re not. We’re not gonna force you to stay. We just hope you’ll be you and be with us at the same time.”

Christ they’re idiots. But it doesn’t stop her from laughing. A giggle bubbles up out of her and hard as she tries to bite it off, it slips across her tongue like a wayward breeze. Tony grins and Steve smiles softly.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to spar, but after that, I think we deserve a treat.”

“Burgers,” Tony says promptly. “Big juicy burgers. Go get dressed, Rogers, we’re going out for this.” And then, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Tony leans over and kisses Steve on the mouth. Steve looks just as shocked as Natasha feels. But then Tony twists and does the same to her. When he stands back, he grins mischievously. “First one to the garage gets to drive the Audi.”

It’s so playful, so at odds with everything that came before, that it sends them into a frenzy, like children told that school’s been let out early. They scramble over each other out to the elevator and then shove and jostle playfully once they get inside. Natasha still doesn’t know what’s cracked inside her, what carefully oiled piece of machinery is now off-kilter, but seeing Steve happy, seeing Tony grinning and glancing up through his eyelashes at them both, she can’t find it in herself to care. Not at the moment anyway.

Her floor is the first, and she leaps from the elevator like a springbok, landing on the toe of one foot. She stretches muscles she hasn’t used publicly in years and turns en pointe to watch the doors close. Steve is playfully jostling Tony, crowding him into a corner. She doesn’t see if they kiss or not, but she doesn’t care. It feels like flying either way.

* * *

 

Steve stretches lazily in bed. This is still his favorite of Natasha’s flop houses, even though they recently discovered a family of mice living in the lower cupboards. Friendly neighbors as far as he’s concerned. He’s the only one still under the covers, reveling in deliciously sore muscles, his ass stretched tight around a plug. “Reminded me of you,” Tony had said when he’d first shown it to them: shiny silver metal, the end-cap enameled with his shield design. It still makes him blush to think about it, because he’s pretty sure Tony didn’t just find it—it’s probably a custom job.

At the sink, Tony and Natasha stand side by side, hips touching, elbows brushing as they put together a cheese platter. Steve loves the way they look together, especially like this, when they’ve both shucked as much armor as they’re capable of shucking, both loose and warm from sex. Natasha murmurs something and Tony turns to look at her. Steve can see the grin on his lips, the web of lines at his eyes. Three months into this strange thing between them, and—it might all be in Steve’s head—but he thinks Tony’s dark circles have lightened a little. He thinks Nat stays a little longer between self-assigned stints in the field. And he thinks they’re both sleeping better since they more or less moved into Tony’s penthouse. The tower windows are still cavernous, the floors still chilly, but the bed is almost never empty.

He knows things won’t, can’t, go on like this indefinitely. They’re regrouping. Closing in on Hydra. Sam’s got whispers of a man with a silver arm, and Steve knows he’ll have to talk to Tony sooner rather than later about Bucky and the files that weren’t in the server dump. But for the moment, he watches as Tony turns and strides toward him with a tray full of cheese, crackers, olives, fresh fruit, and high-end deli meat. Nat follows, flutes of sparkling cider held elegantly between her fingers.

“You were so good,” she murmurs, bending to brush her lips against his. “Looked so beautiful for us.” Steve hums happily, greedily and chases her lips until Tony pushes down on his chest.

“Uh-uh. Food first. And then we’ll see where the night takes us.” Steve glances down to see that Tony is half-hard again—he complains sometimes that he’s getting too old to keep up with them, but today’s a special occasion. Full day off, no work of any kind, for all of them.

Natasha plucks a slice of Havarti from the tray and presses it to his lips. “That’s right. We’ve got all night.”

She’s flying for Budapest in the morning—still won’t say a word about it—but for now, here, they’re all of them home.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](arukou-arukou.tumblr.com/) for more fanfiction and general nerdery.


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